


Sympathy for the Devil

by forever_nerd



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Trixie, Brave Chloe Decker, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Infatuated french 'satanist', Mending Relationship, Post-Season/Series 03, Scared Chloe Decker, The Devil loves the Arts, sightseeing in Europe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:26:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23910790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forever_nerd/pseuds/forever_nerd
Summary: Chloe sees Lucifer's devil face after he kills Cain. It does not go well. She grabs up Trixie and runs off to...Belgium, where she sees Le génie du mal, the famous statue of Lucifer.Things definitely take a different turn!
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 44
Kudos: 327





	Sympathy for the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Based on @matchstick_dolly’s prompt:
> 
> Chloe sees Lucifer's devil face after he kills Cain. It does not go well. She grabs up Trixie and runs off to...Belgium, where she sees Le génie du mal, the famous statue of Lucifer. Her research goes in a completely different direction, to say the least.
> 
> So behold my word vomit. (Sorry Matches no actual research here!)

“Detective?” he asks, oblivious to the chaos he is wreaking inside her.

“Detective,” he says again and a hand that should be pale cream but is not, _it’s not_ , it’s burnt and ravaged and red, grabs her wrist and she pulls away terrified—

She jolted awake, her breaths shallow and fast as she took in the dark expanse of the sky outside the small window. Trixie was sleeping next to her, happily unaware of all the things that were twisting her mother’s gut.

The Devil was real. And he was her partner.

Her heart started to race as it did every time she thought about it for more than ten seconds. It was the only reason she let Penelope do this. Pay the tickets and send her and Trixie on a merry journey to Europe, to get away from the horror of that day.

_If only they knew._

“I can’t imagine the horror of finding out that your ex-fiancé is a-a… _monster_ ,” she remembered her mother saying, her arms wrapped around her shoulders, trying to comfort her for the wrong thing.

Yes, Marcus, or Cain, was a criminal mastermind who had tried to murder them both _and_ the immortal first murderer, because the first one was not enough apparently.

But Chloe’s mind was stuck on that other detail.

On that other _little_ thing that only she knew.

That Lucifer was the _actual_ Devil. Just like he always claimed.

You know, _The_ Lucifer.

_Dear G—ahh!_

She sure knew how to pick them.

The plane was about to land so she woke Trixie up with soft touches, chatting her up about all the fun things they were going to do.

Liege, in Belgium, was their first destination. Large enough to have the big city vibe but not huge or overcrowded to feel too much like home. Besides, like her mother had said, _trust me pumpkin you could never mistake any city in Europe for LA. You’ll see._

Well, her mother was right.

They spent their first day walking around and climbed the Montagne de Bueren, which made her think that she ought to work out more. They snuck into small alleys between the red bricked houses and reached the top where they took a lot of selfies with the beautiful panoramic views of the city below them.

And the view was beautiful, gorgeous but all she could see before her eyes was Lucifer, his face burnt, red and oh so terrifying.

She blinked quickly and put on her glasses even if the sun was almost gone and with a smile promised her daughter more waffles for dinner.

After Trixie had gone to sleep, her thumb hovered for the longest time over her message app. The unread messages in their thread were now twenty-three. Her heart started the drumming thing again and her hands felt too sweaty suddenly, so she put the phone down, adding guilt to that messy concoction that was brewing in her pit of her stomach.

After a horrible night’s sleep and a good breakfast they took to the streets again. Trixie was adamant about not visiting museums when the weather was so lovely outside and Chloe had conceded, especially since Paris and the Louvre were their next destination and she didn’t want to push her luck.

During their aimless walk they stumbled upon St. Paul’s Cathedral. The sight stopped both of them in their tracks. Dark and imposing, with its beautiful garden, it was impossible not to stop and stare.

“Mum, can we see what it’s like from the inside?” Trixie asked bouncing on the soles of her feet.

“Um, sure, baby,” she agreed, hoping that a cathedral would be safe territory, free from the Devil’s presence.

(Oh, the sheer _stupidity_ of self-suggestion.)

They walked along the cloisters with the stained glass windows, stopping to see their designs, and walked down the nave admiring its impressive vaulted ceilings and beautiful murals. Chloe had no idea that churches, of any kind really, could be so beautiful.

They were both impressed by the marble statues and the sheer amount of detail that someone could carve onto stone.

As Chloe stood before the pulpit admiring the three statues, Trixie called out excitedly.

“Mom, you _have_ to see this!”

Some people turned and stared, disgruntled by the disruption of the eerie silence. Chloe walked to her daughter at the back and stared at Trixie’s discovery.

“See? It’s the Devil!” she crowed excitedly. “I am face-timing Lucifer! He _has_ to see this!”

“No, no baby! Um, Lucifer’s probably asleep,” or fucking someone, or several someones she added in her head dejectedly.

Then she turned her eyes back to the statue, studying it carefully.

The man was young and beautiful, a far cry from the red horned and goat-like monstrosity that others had depicted. But, now… now, she knew firsthand that the Devil was in fact red, burnt and mangled almost beyond recognition.

Her heart squeezed painfully.

She remembered that painting they had seen of the Devil being struck down by an Angel.

By his own brother.

“Très beau, oui?”

Chloe straightened her back and turned to face the woman. Black straight hair in a short bob and brown, smiling eyes.

“Um, I’m sorry, I don’t speak French,” she said awkwardly.

“An American! Hello! I’m Sabine,” she stretched her hand out with a wide smile and Chloe couldn’t help but shake it.

“I’m Chloe.”

“Did you come here to see him?” she said gesturing to the statue.

“Um, no. I’m not big into art. I didn’t know about this. But…”

“You are taken by him, yes? Everyone is!”

“It’s… interesting,” she agreed, not sure what to say to this stranger.

“Surely not what you expect of the Devil!”

“But… If he was an angel why the bat wings?”

“Well, people had to be able to see who he truly was. If he didn’t have these wings and the bitten apple at his feet, would you believe him to be the Devil?”

“Um, no. And he’s chained too… Who _is_ the Devil?”

Chloe whispered the last part, mostly to herself, but the woman, Sabine, seized the opportunity to keep talking.

“Oh, that is such an interesting question! I find him fascinating! One of the most abused characters in the course of religious history.”

“Why do you say that?” Chloe asked, suddenly interested in the direction of the conversation.

“Well, think about the beginning. Lucifer was an angel. God’s favorite presumably. [_And God_](https://biblehub.com/hebrew/430.htm)[ _said,_](https://biblehub.com/hebrew/559.htm)[ _“Let there be_](https://biblehub.com/hebrew/1961.htm)[ _light,”_](https://biblehub.com/hebrew/216.htm)[ _and there was_](https://biblehub.com/hebrew/1961.htm)[ _light._](https://biblehub.com/hebrew/216.htm) _And God saw that the light was good._ Lucifer was the one who brought forth the light, hence the title, Light bringer or the Morningstar. And if the light was good, he probably was good too, yes? So, how do you go from favored son to the embodiment of all things evil? La source de tous les maux ?”

Chloe stared at the statue and thought about his constant complaints about humanity always blaming him. About being shunned, vilified. And his resentment, almost hatred, towards his father. She had always been certain that his so called metaphor was rooted in a very abusive father and absent mother. What if she had been right and the father was… _The Father_?

Her mind spun at the enormity of _that_ particular idea. She pulled herself out of that mental quicksand before she got sucked and pressed forward with more questions.

“Yes, but wasn’t there a rebellion supposedly? Wasn’t he punished?” she stuttered, thinking of awful burns that no man could have survived.

But he was no man, was he?

And if she was having this conversation she wasn’t going to be the devil’s advocate. Literally, in this case. Her french friend was doing more than enough on that front.

“Oui, oui. Whatever the reason behind his rebellion, his subsequent punishment was rather harsh, wouldn’t you say? Banished from Heaven, an eternal outcast, condemned to rule Hell, shackled to punishment in every way, always blamed for humanity’s vilest crimes. Oh, Christians _do_ love a good scapegoat!”

“The devil made me do it,” Chloe repeated the much despised excuse and felt something inside her begin to thaw.

“Alors, abused and misunderstood,” she concluded.

“Lucifer would love that!” Trixie piped in, having returned.

“Oh and who might you be?”

“This is my daughter, Trixie.”

“Hello Trixie. I’m Sabine.”

“Hi Sabine!”

“Are you talking about another Lucifer?”

“My Mom’s partner. Lucifer Morningstar. He is the Devil.”

Sabine’s eyebrows hid under her fringe for a moment and then she laughed, long and happy, turning people’s heads once more.

“Oh, your friend sounds very interesting!”

“You have no idea…” Chloe said with a smile while something else, far more familiar, fluttered in her stomach.

“Why don’t you lovely ladies join me for a late lunch or early dinner? I am meeting some friends. Chloe, have you tried our beer?”

“Um, no to be honest. But we wouldn't want to impose.”

“Nonsense! And now I must educate you! After tasting our beer you won't want to drink American any more. No offence, Chloe.”

“None taken,” she said with a smile and with a last look at the statue they walked out of the cathedral.

There, see?

She could be spontaneous and have fun. Even if it was only because of _him_.

Sabine showed more landmarks as they walked together and told them a bit more about herself. It was obvious that the woman loved to talk. She talked about her studies, history and religion (hence her fascination with the man of the hour) and her partner, Christiane.

They arrived at the little bistro and Sabine hugged and kissed the man behind the bar. Once they were seated, the first thing she did was help Chloe pick the right beer for her.

She asked about Chloe's job and was delighted with the answer.

“Oh, it suits you so! So, you solve crimes and bring guilty men to justice with the Devil’s help? _This was written in the stars_!” she said smiling broadly and clapping excitedly and Chloe felt a little warmer on the inside.  
  
She interacted with Trixie a lot and was delighted to hear more about their Lucifer.

When the rest of the party arrived, Christiane and another friend Nicolas, they placed their orders, got more beer and continued chatting.

“Guess where I found Chloe!” Sabine exclaimed excitedly.

“Were you ogling him again, mon chou?” Cristiane asked, lovingly exasperated. “I swear if she could bring him home, she would!”

“That is probably the only man I’d bring home,” she said and then slapped her hand over her mouth, looking at Trixie. Trixie smiled cheekily and in a very conspiratorial whisper she said,

“I know all about sex.”

They all laughed, even uptight Chloe who blushed profusely at her daughter’s comment.

“Well, he is definitely something to look at,” Chloe said, not really referring to the statue.

“Chloe, do you know the story behind the statue?” Nicolas asked, and at her _no_ , went off talking. Maybe it was a _Liege_ thing.

“Another one was commissioned and made before that, by the brother of this sculptor, Joseph Geefs. But it was considered too beautiful and scandalous so they commissioned his brother to do another. And Guillaume made it ever sexier! Thankfully, they accepted the second one and we can still admire our Lucifer today.”

“Um, interesting story.”

_Oh God, I bet he knew them both._

The thought came unbidden from a part of her that had apparently accepted the fact that he was immortal-however much something like that could be fully accepted or grasped.

Older than time itself.

Or better yet, timeless.

(Yeah, fat chance she had accepted _that_.)

“We even had our little Satanist cult when we were younger,” Sabine said with nostalgia, making Chloe choke on her beer.

“And what did you do in your cult?” she asked reluctantly.

“Ate, drank good beer and wondered what the Devil would be like if he were living amongst us now.”

Chloe choked on her drink again, coughing violently.

“Ça va bien?” they all asked in unison and Chloe nodded.

“And? What did you decide on?” Trixie asked.

“Well, ridiculously charming and handsome. A very… dapper gentleman. An artist at heart-he did put the stars in the sky, oui? Smart and witty with a slightly dark sense of humour, like a Britishman!”

Chloe was feeling… _funny_.

She wanted both to burst into uncontrollable giggles and heaving sobs.

Was this _real_? It felt like looking into a funhouse mirror, except the image wasn’t distorted when it really _should_ have been-and wasn’t _that_ even _weirder_?

And Sabine was _still_ talking!

“A feminist through and through. Why? Because I like him. Can you really blame Eve? I’d take free will and punishment over specifically groomed for a man _any day_. So, what do you think, ma lutine?” she asked Trixie.

“I think you’ve nailed pretty much everything. But you should know, he doesn’t like children much. I am the exception of course,” she said proudly. And then, almost as an afterthought,

“And, he’s in love with my Mum!”

“Trixie!” Chloe admonished, at a loss for a moment.

_Like how I feel about you._

“He’d be a fool not to, ma lutine. I’ll drink to that!”

Thankfully they did not talk about Lucifer-any of them- anymore.

They did talk about Chloe’s job and life in LA as well as their next destinations and by the time they were ready to head back to their hotel, the atmosphere was warm enough that there were hugs, Ella-like hugs, and heartfelt goodbyes.

Trixie was so tired that she barely had time to walk out of the shower before she was asleep.

And that just gave Chloe all the more time to think. She did not exactly believe in coincidences. But the events of this day were strangely serendipitous and Chloe…

Chloe felt properly chastised.

She knew, especially in her line of work, that there were as many truths to a story as there were people.

And in the shadow of that mind-numbing terror that had followed her since that awful moment, she didn't really stop to think about Lucifer's side of the story.

She had ran from her partner, had condemned him at first sight, never giving him a chance to explain himself.

He had been telling her about it for years but she didn't _know_. He had told _again_ just a few days before-his soulful eyes so incredibly sad and begging her to believe him.

But she didn’t. Not the way he wanted her to.

And now… Now she knew.

And as terrifying existentially the entire reality he had unveiled was, Chloe was stuck on something simpler.  
  
Who was he?

She felt like she knew Lucifer Morningstar, night club owner and civilian consultant. More than knew him.

She loved him.

But what about the Devil?

Not the dapper gentleman, but the red skinned creature with the blazing eyes.

What of _him?_  
  
Even if he was indeed the most abused character in the course of time, and he wasn't bad, _evil_ as the church painted him to be, even then, could she love someone so fundamentally different?

He wasn't even _human_.

His lips though had felt human enough. And the way he looked at her sometimes, it felt like he could love her.

It felt like he _did_ love her.

Her. Old, boring, single mum Chloe.

Who didn’t know how to have fun and had too many sensible brown shoes in her closet.

She wiped away her tears and snuggled deeper into her pillow. His unread messages were burning a hole in her mind.

She picked up her phone, hand trembling still, and opened their thread.

_Detective, I never meant for you to find out like this._

_Please forgive me._

_Are you alright?_

_Detective, are you functional? I am deeply worried._

_I understand if you abhor the idea of speaking to me. Just let me know you are alright and I shan’t bother you anymore._

_If that is what you wish of course._

_You don’t even have to send words. A thumbs up emoji will do._

_Any emoji will do._

_Even the birdie if you find it appropriate._

_How furious are you Detective? 1 being plain furious and 5 being multiple veins busting furious?_

_Maybe I shouldn’t be joking about this. It’s my defense mechanism. Or so Linda tells me._

_DETECTIVE! LINDA KNOWS! You can talk to her if you wish. I believe you will find her very helpful._

_Shouty capitals for the epiphany. I am not yelling at you. I am worried. Terribly so._

_I know you have not read these. So, I don’t know why I keep writing. I’m still hoping I guess._

_One deleted message_.

_Daniel told me that you left for Europe. Well not Daniel. He is still blaming me for Charlotte’s death. Nothing new there. But Ella did._

_Detective I know Europe like the back of my hand. I could offer some great tips._

_Just steer clear of the Vatican. They are not very fond of me there!_

_Joking Detective! You can go wherever you desire._

_There is great gelato in Rome. Beatrice will love it._

_And pasta of course, for you. You must try cacio e pepe spaghetti. It’s simple just like your taste buds prefer it. I know you will love it._

_Chloe… I would never hurt you or Beatrice. I hope you know that, if nothing else._

_I am terribly sorry that you felt like you had to get as far away from me as you could._

_If you want me to leave LA, I will. All you have to do is ask._

She wiped away more tears and bit back the sob that was about to break free. She had been so self-centered these past few days. But she had no idea what to do. What to ask. What to say to him.

She was just so horribly confused.

Did she want him to leave?

The mere thought made her heart flutter unhappily. But at the mere thought of trying to compose some sort of answer, she got so nervous that she felt nauseated.

She packed their bags to perfection instead and watched a French dubbed version of Pretty Woman until she fell asleep, her hand still wrapped around the remote.

  
~*~

She is in the cathedral. She doesn't remember how she got here. She walks along the dark corridors, illuminated only by the moonlight filtering through the stained glass windows; the looming faces above her serve only to intensify this anxious feeling that is bubbling under her skin.

She is looking for _him_. She knows he is here. She can feel it in her bones.

The stardust in her veins comes to life near him, calling out to the light hiding under his skin.

He finds her first. His arms encircle her from behind, warm and large on her ribcage. He smells of whiskey, smoke and something else that is entirely his.

“I found you first,” he whispers gleefully, his lips at the shell of her ear, as if they are in the middle of a game in this sacred place. His hands go lower, gliding along her skin past the hem of her dress and then up again, pulling it higher until his thumbs find her lips, soft and swollen and wet for him.

“Trying to tempt me, are you love? Will you also offer me an apple to bite?” he asks, squeezing her ass, his nails digging into her flesh like teeth, his voice dripping with sex.

“I thought _you_ were the Tempter,” she says breathily, as his fingers glide over her folds.

“Oh, Detective…Not with you. I’ll gladly take any apple you give me. Any at all-be it laced with knowledge, mortality, beauty, trickery or love… Anything you offer to me, I’ll take it,” he promises, his lips kissing along the line of her jaw and up to her lips, his fingers still caressing.

  
And then somehow she is straddling him, his hands wrapped around her, their lips crashing. Fast and desperate or slow and sensual, their kisses are all tongue and teeth and her hands pull the untamed curls on his head. She can feel his cock, hard and perfect, against her sex. His hands are like fire (they _are_ fire, crackling and burning) as he pulls down the straps of her dress and massages her breasts, his eyes hungry and full of promises.

  
She moans long and loud and the sound carries in the empty corridors, echoes off the vaulted ceilings that are painted in clouds and cherubims, their eyes watching her, watching him as he kneels and kisses at the altar of her thighs.  
She can’t help but watch them back; his mouth on her is bliss, it is _heaven_ even if it’s a sin, a profanity, a _sacrilege_ to do such a thing here, but she doesn’t care, she _doesn’t._

She wants him, this creature that so many have admired, have enjoyed, have pitied and blamed. She wants him all for herself- all his jagged pieces with their sharp ends and let her be cut, let her be torn and shredded.

She wants him and let her be damned in this sacred place of saints and virgins in all of her unholy glory.

The sound of his footsteps distracts her and she catches glimpses of his dark suit and burnt flesh, of the fire still burning in his eyes, his look sharp and covetous. He circles them like a predator, biding his time, observing her as if she were a human sacrifice, an offering of wanton flesh to be consumed to appease some deity.

She moans again at lips that are both soft and demanding, and the Lucifer between her legs chuckles, low and dark and sensual, enjoying this exquisite torture of bringing her so close to the edge and denying her release.

She likes it too.

But the Devil is speaking to her now and she turns her attention, as much as she can, to him.

“You _want_ me? Do you _really_ Detective? You ran,” he accuses.

His eyes, fire incarnate but still his, stare down into her very soul. It’s a nakedness that has nothing to do with her body being splayed on the floor, clothes half stripped and trussed up.

It’s a look that strips her of all her pretenses, all her false bravado and grand exclamations under soft moonlight; what is left is her fear, her doubts, her terror, all on display, for him.

“I was frightened,” she defends through another moan.

“Was? You no longer are?”

His tone is harsh and teasing at the same time; a strange dichotomy like his face- still Lucifer’s but alien too, with ridges and hallows and burnt flesh that seem to belong to someone else. To the Devil.

“Still me, Darling,” he taunts, and she turns away from him.

But her eyes land on him, another him, again. He sits perched on that pulpit like that statue. No, he is the statue, she realizes.

His skin is pale against the dark wood panels but warmer than marble. He sits there in his silken boxers, his naked body as enticing as ever-all broad shoulders and prominent collarbones, firm muscles and sharp lines. His wings are tightly tucked against his back as if he is ashamed of them. Their dark membranes tremble in the stillness.

“This is wrong,” she whispers to him. She remembers the feathers, white and red, his blood spilled for her again.

“They think I am a monster Detective. They give me wings to match.”

His eyes are so sad. So devastated.  
  
His feet are shackled in chains and Maze’s curved dagger rests between them, the smell of blood in the air. When she looks at them questioningly, his whisper in the empty cathedral is deafening.

"For you, Detective. So that you won't be afraid. I would never hurt you. I’d rather die- I have done so - than see you harmed."

“I’m not afraid,” she lies boldly and groans, tugging at his curls, his lips sinfully good. “But _you_ are,” she continues with a confidence that can be found only here, in the presence of the Devil, the Angel and the Man. “What are you afraid of?”

She lets out an exceptionally long moan.

But still his words ring as loud as church bells in her ears.

“You. Your judgment, Chloe,” he confesses, his brown eyes twin pools of despair.  
  
  


She woke up drenched in sweat, her eyes and panties both wet. She tried to take a deep breath but she was still panting, arousal, confusion, love and anguish tangling inside her, like closely intertwined vines, impossible to distinguish.

_Who was he_?

And whom did she love?

She checked her phone. 4:30 am. Two unread messages.

_I thought I knew what loneliness was before._

_I was wrong._

She wiped the fresh tears, scrubbed at the tears tracks that felt sticky on her cheeks and took a deep breath. She picked up her phone.

She typed an answer. She deleted it. Then tried again. And deleted that.

Her phone vibrated with the arrival of a new message.

_I see those three little dots Detective! You can’t hide from me now._

_Not that you need to._

She tried again. Then deleted it once more.

_You will probably tell me to leave you alone. To disappear. I will. Anything you ask of me._

_Hi,_ she typed finally.

The three little dots appeared again. And disappeared.

And then his message came as simple as hers.

_Hello. I was expecting an essay._

_Humor as a defense mechanism again?_

Anything to avoid the elephant in the proverbial room.

_Always Detective._

A pause. And then another vibration.

_I am so sorry Chloe._

_Okay._

_Okay? Detective are you quite alright?_

_I don’t want to talk about this via texting._

_But you do wish to talk about it? Face to face no less?_

_I think so._

_So… Are you giving me a chance to explain myself?_

_This running might not be permanent?_

_Maybe. I don’t know. I am very confused._

_Alright. At this point this is far more than anything I was expecting._

_Okay._

She was looking at her phone, wondering if that was the end of their short discussion when the little dots appeared once more.

_Detective, if I may ask…_

_What are you doing awake in your time zone? I believe it is too early, even for you._

She considered whether she should tell him. But at this point she decided that honesty was the best choice.

_I had a strange dream. Couldn’t go back to sleep._

The dots appeared and disappeared. Again and again. She almost went back to sleep when her phone vibrated in her hand again.

_I see. Please forgive me if my other self has been plaguing your dreams._

More dots.

_I never wanted you to see that. That face is meant for punishment. Mine and others’._

What was _that_ supposed to mean? Her questions piled up even higher.

_I was frightened. A lot. In some ways I still am. But it wasn’t like that. The dream._

As she was writing she could feel her blush coloring her cheeks. She was grateful that he couldn’t see her. And that he wouldn’t ask her to elaborate.

_Be that as it may. I am sorry. Now, try to get some sleep._

_Okay._

_We’ll talk later_ , she wanted to type or _I’ll call you_. But she didn’t.

Could it be that easy to fall back into their old ways with the truth so fresh and raw between them?

She was about to set the phone down when it gave another vibration.

_Chloe, I don’t know what brought forth this change, but I am very thankful._

She didn’t reply, unwilling to tell him that it was a stranger that made her consider all those things he had more or less told her.

She should have done that on her own. He was her partner and no matter what she owed him that much.

Unfortunately, fear was an awful thing; its poison had spread so quickly, rendering her incapable of any sort of reaction other than flight.

But _dammit_ , Chloe Jane Decker didn’t run from her problems. She faced them.

~*~

It was late afternoon by the time they had settled in their hotel in Paris. Chloe was dead on her feet but she did want to see the city of Light under the dwindling sunlight.

They walked the streets and admired the Eiffel tower from a distance, taking multiple selfies. After dinner they walked some more, until they could see some stars in the sky and her mind immediately went to him.

If the Devil was real, was the entire myth surrounding him real too?

Had he really given life to the stars?

Back in the hotel, with Trixie busy over a box of macaroons, Chloe’s hands kept returning to her phone. It had been less than a day since they had communicated and right now that seemed too long.

Maybe he was just giving her space.

In this moment though, space felt overrated.

She went through their pictures carefully, choosing one where she deemed herself presentable despite the dark circles under her eyes (not analyzing _that_ ), and sent it to him.

The answer came almost immediately.

_I didn’t quite realize how much I have missed this view._

_Oh? When did you last visit Paris?_

_I wasn’t talking about_ that _view Detective._

Catching her off guard, it took her some time to think of what to say. Misunderstanding her lack of answer, his follow up message was apologetic.

_Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable._

_You didn’t. You just surprised me. We do have an unfinished conversation. Perhaps we’ll get to finish that._

The dots came and went. Again and again.

_Will you be visiting the Louvre tomorrow?_

She was quite confident that this wasn’t the intended message.

_Yes. Any suggestions?_

_The Louvre houses amazing art but I believe the sculptures are my favourites. Such bloody artistry._

The question that popped into her head was sudden, impulsive. She sent it before she had time to overthink it.

_Have you ever posed for one?_

There was nothing for a moment. No dots, no answer. Had she overstepped? And then,

_Yes. More than once to be honest._

_I bet you enjoyed that. Were you also satisfied with the result?_

_I did enjoy that. And well, yes I was. They make for interesting stories. Perhaps I’ll tell you over wine one day._

The scene immediately played out in her head. Out on his balcony, with his stars above them, sipping their wine; his eyes warm and his voice warmer as he talked about eras long gone and shared small pieces of his life with her.

She wanted that.

No matter who, or what he was.

_I think I’d like that._

The dots came and went again and again and _again_. It was a couple of minutes before his reply finally came.

_May I telephone you Detective?_

She typed the answer with no conscious thought. Seconds later, her phone vibrated with an incoming call. She stepped outside on their little balcony so as not to wake Trixie.

“Hey,” she whispered, her heart in her throat. It wasn’t fear though, no. At least not the kind of fear she would expect of talking to the Devil.

“Hello Chloe,” he greeted, his voice the same as always but for some reason more; more beautiful, more soulful, more of _everything._

How was it possible to have missed his voice so much?

“Hi,” she replied eloquently.

There was some awkward silence and then they both started speaking together.

“I didn’t realize—“

“I didn’t think—“

They laughed and then Lucifer, ever the gentleman said,

“Ladies first Detective.”

She swallowed her nerves. She had promised to herself that she’d be honest.

“I think I’ve missed you voice. Even your stupid British accent.”

She was glad he couldn’t see her face yet again.

“As have I, Chloe. Your voice, your eyes, your ponytails and plaits, the eye-rolling, the eternal chastising. Even the sensible brown shoes… I miss you. A great deal.”

Her heart thundered in her ribcage, elation and fear making for a strange and intoxicating combination.

“Lucifer I—“

“You don’t need to say anything Detective. But I do. I am both surprised and ecstatic at the turn of events. At your change of heart. What…” he cleared his throat but his voice was still tight and almost hoarse when he spoke again.

“What you saw at the loft… That is not all that I am Chloe. I hope… I hope you know that.”

She wiped away her tears but they were there in her voice when she spoke.

“I k-know Lucifer. I know. You deserved better than me running away. I was just so shocked… and terrified. I’m sorry.”

“Chloe, _no_. Please don’t apologize and for Dad’s sake don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” A pause and a deep breath. “Look out for the Winged Victory tomorrow. And the Venus di Milo. And Cupid and Psyche. And maybe send me more pictures of your lovely faces.”

“Okay,” she sniffed pitifully.

“Enjoy yourself and know that I am more than looking forward to your safe return. And as you Americans love to say, ‘the ball is in your court’.”

He said the last part in a terrible, but accurate American accent.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“No, thank _you_ Chloe. Now, I believe it’s time for all good detectives to go to bed.” She laughed. “Goodnight Detective and dream only of happy things.”

“Goodnight Lucifer.”

She did dream of happy things. She dreamt of Lucifer posing for her.

There were no wings, feathery or bat-like, only him; his brown eyes her very own siren’s call and his smile disarming, the softest of battering rams laying waste to her defenses.

Her hands smooth over the cold expanse of the stone, shaping the material according to his image like a sculptor from a time long gone, until the stone itself breaths to life under her fingertips and she finds her hands running over warm skin and trembling flesh.

They come together in a tangle of limbs, fingers digging into flesh sweetly and lips painting fire on each other’s skin. They don’t speak, but their eyes do. They spin tales of desire with no end while lips suck and teeth bite soft flesh. They feed each other tart fruit but she is hungry for him-for lips and skin and flesh. She holds him so close, burrows into him so deeply, it’s impossible to tell, to feel where one begins and the other ends.

_But oh it feels so bloody perfect._

She woke up with the feel of his lips on hers and the taste of apples in her mouth; with no idea of who was tempting whom or whether it even mattered anymore.

She did look out for those statues. And loved them. But no surprise there. Lucifer always had impeccable taste.

She sent him more photographs and he replied with a few of his own. It gave her a perverse sense of satisfaction to see the respective dark circles under his eyes, the disheveled state of his hair and the (almost) beard that had covered his artful stubble.

During their lunch at one of the museum’s restaurants, she sent him some feedback.

_I really like the new look._

The reply came after a few minutes. Only then did she realize the time difference.

_I wouldn’t call it a look exactly._

_Shit. I woke you up didn’t I? I’m so sorry._

_Don’t be. I quite like being woken up by you._

The next thing he sent was a picture of him, in bed, hair a tangled mess of curls and eyes still sleepy and adorable.

She thought of her dreams, of the two almost chaste kisses they had shared and this time she was ready to acknowledge exactly what that thing unfurling deliciously slow in her belly was.

Desire. She wanted the Devil.

She wanted him _badly_.

_You look ridiculous_ , she sent back, afraid for very different reasons now.

_But I like it_ , she followed up to soften her words.

_Go back to sleep,_ she ordered before she said something stupid like _I want to kiss that sleep right off your face._

Because she wanted to. Very much so.

_Demanding as ever Detective. Enjoy your afternoon_.

She did. And her evening. When they finally made it back to the hotel she felt like her feet were going to fall off. After a long, hot bath she settled with Trixie on the bed and face timed with Dan and Penelope.

There were unread messages waiting in hers and Lucifer’s thread and that alone made her heart thump like crazy; as if she were a silly teenager and not a mum in her mid(to late)-thirties who had seen the Devil’s face.

A mum who should be cutting all ties with him instead of dreaming of him every night.

Instead of wanting him still.

It seemed that once again her heart was calling the shots; a rarity for her, except of course when it came to him.

_Thank you for the photographs. You both look lovely._

_So, what did you enjoy most?_

_Everything was so beautiful. And I did look for those statues. Wings, a topless girl and star-crossed lovers. Are you trying to tell me something?_

She paused for a moment, her thumb hovering over the send button. Was she… _flirting_?

Yes, yes she was.

Because once the original terror dissipated, her love kept burning just as brightly. And all those feelings that she had kept under lock and key, grew and grew like vines, breaking out of their confines, flooding her entire being, making her drunk with them.

_It would appear so Detective. But alas this time I must plead innocent. They just happen to be my favourite. No pun intended-an oddity I know!_

~*~

She wanted to see him. She couldn't imagine staying away for another two weeks. They had unresolved issues (an understatement!) but most importantly she had feelings coalescing within her that demanded recognition. Demanded to be named. Out loud.

Their flight to Rome was late that night.

“Trix would you mind horribly if we cut our trip a little short?”

“No Rome?” Trixie asked surprised and instantly miserable.

“Oh no. We’ll go to Rome for four days and then I was thinking maybe we could head back?”

“Can I have gelato twice a day?”

“What? How do you know about gelato?”

“I googled best dessert in Rome Mum.”

“ _Right_. Well if you promise to have a decent breakfast and dinner, then yes.”

She extended her hand and they shook on it.

“It's a deal,” Trixie said, her words an echo of Lucifer’s.  
  
  


Rome was lovely. The Colosseum was even more imposing that she’d thought it would be. And there was such beauty, such elegance in this ancient city, its monuments and statues scattered everywhere like wildflowers in a field that it felt like a living, breathing work of art.

Looking at the Pantheon, she had the errant thought that Lucifer might have stood in this very spot literally thousands of years ago, admiring it the same way she was. 

It was mind-boggling and yet it changed nothing.

She wanted to know him. Know all of him.

She felt the need like a deep hunger, an emptiness that demanded to be filled.

She wanted to follow him into his past, like a modern Ariadne with a piece of red thread in her hands, desperate to connect the dots, to discover every facet of this creature that had travelled through oceans of time alone.

Like with everyone, there was both darkness and light under his skin.  
She wanted to bask in his light but mostly she yearned to wonder in his darkness, to unveil the beauty hidden in places he kept only to himself.

She wanted to understand him.

And she wanted to understand why she was important to him. She of all people.

Chloe Jane Decker. A nobody.

A divorced mum with a pre-teen and a history of bad decisions.

"Mum!” Trixie whined pulling her back to the present. “You promised! Let's go!"

And so Chloe quieted her hunger with tiramisu gelato which she promptly sent to Lucifer-a selfie with both their faces stuffed with ice cream.  
  
_I am horribly jealous._

_Of the ice cream._ _  
_  
She blushed and laughed, a sound of pure joy and sweet anticipation, and continued her countdown.  
  


Not once had he asked her when they were planning to return. So, when she announced it on the phone, on their last night in Rome, she expected joy and excitement but instead she got an awkward silence that made the butterflies in her stomach flutter unpleasantly.

“Lucifer if you have changed your mind—“

"No Chloe, no. You just… surprised me. I am… nervous and… well, petrified to be honest. This… _limbo_ we have been stuck in,” he stopped, laughing nervously. “Limbos are supposed to be unpleasant… but here I am, almost happier than I have ever been, because you know and you are still here. Still talking to me, still laughing with me and….I know that once you return there is a very good chance that I will lose everything.”

“Alright then. What guarantees do you want?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Let’s make a deal.”

“A deal Detective?! And what do you want out of it?”

“The truth. No omissions or obfuscations. The truth, no matter how hard it is.”

“I see.”

“What do _you_ want Lucifer?”

“I want you to think thrice before you bolt out of my door and my life.”

“Twice is not enough?” she asked with a smile in her voice.

“I am afraid twice will not suffice Detective.”

“Alright then. It’s a deal. Too bad we can’t shake on it.”

“Detective please! My word is my bond.” 

“Great. You keep your end and I’ll keep mine.”

“Oh, I’ll keep my promise to you detective. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. But I fear my story is too grim to warrant a happy ending. No matter how much I desire it.”

“I’m scared too,” she offered. “And I promise to do my best. To listen, to understand… to stay. I …. I want to.”

“Alright then. Would you like a welcoming party at the airport? Maze has been asking about the urchin. _Non-stop_.”

“Maze…” _Maze,_ she thought her thoughts coming to a screeching halt. “How about I handle one supernatural being at a time?”

He laughed-it wasn’t forced but it didn’t ring true either.

This was not going to be easy. She had found solace in this shared limbo as well and stepping out of it would be much harder than she thought.

“That won’t be necessary but thank you. Dan is going to pick us up and drop me off at home. Trixie will spend a few days with him, which means that I will be available for… you.”

“Ripping the bloody thing off straightaway, are we Detective? You know you are always welcome.” He sounded resigned to his fate. “I will be here, enjoying my routine of drinking and brooding, waiting for you,” he said breezily but his joke fell flat.

“Lucifer, please have faith,” she begged in a small voice.

“Are you honestly asking the Devil to have faith darling?” he asked, his tone thorny.

“I am asking you to have faith in me,” she said hurt.

“Alright then,” he acquiesced after a moment of silence. “Anything for you Chloe.”

They had half a day to soak up whatever more they could of Rome. They walked around, revisiting sights they had already seen but were a delight to look at again, and enjoyed each not one but two gelatos before Chloe insisted that a third one would not constitute lunch even if it were basil and tomato flavored, like _pizza._

By the time they made it to Fiumicino airport they were both exhausted and Chloe was more than grateful that they were flying directly to LAX. She was desperate for some sleep, even a terrible, stewardess interrupted, pitiful nap but she was unable to shut down her brain.

Grateful for her window seat, her eyes stayed glued to the wide expanse of the dark sky and the stars that she could see. She had her questions and he would be providing the answers, as promised. She had no doubt of that.

And she was fairly certain that there wouldn’t be a need for much deliberation on her part.

Even now, her heart pounded like an off-beat drum and the butterflies in her stomach sprang to life just at the thought of seeing his face again after more than two weeks.

She had not forgotten what had happened. How could she? The memory of his other face was tucked safely away in her mind and the terror she had felt, though still present had transformed. Now, she was terrified _for_ him.

What had happened to him to turn his face into a scorched mess of blistered veins and raw, melted skin?

How much pain, how much hatred did he shroud in his heart to make his eyes burn with such a fiery passion?

She wanted to fill his heart and his eyes with a different kind of fire. Even if they were red.

She spent the entirety of the flight simulating a variety of scenarios, trying to prepare herself for what was to come. As if she had any power over him and his reactions.

“Hey Mum,” Trixie said sleepily while they were preparing for landing.

“Hey Monkey.”

“We’re home.”

“Yes, we are.”

“I kinda missed home,” she said scrunching up her nose.

“So did I, baby. So, did I.”

Chloe’s lack of sleep and utter exhaustion was palpable. Dan was eyeing her as if she were going to collapse any minute now but Chloe managed to make it into the house out of sheer stubbornness before she collapsed onto the sofa, where she promptly fell asleep, her emotional baggage put on hold for a bit while the actual baggage lay forgotten by the door.

She felt a little nudge at her consciousness. She ignored it. She hadn’t slept like this for so long. But soon the nudge turned into a poke and then into a shove when she heard someone yell,

“CHLOE DECKER!”

She jumped up, eyes wide and heart racing, trying to get her bearings. She realized that this person was also persistently knocking on the door. She got up to answer, tripping over her bags on the way there and was surprised to see Linda.

She was dressed to the nines, glasses on and wearing a pretty scowl on her face.

“Chloe, thank God! I’ve been here for almost twenty minutes! I was about to get help! Are you alright?”

She ushered her inside and yawned widely in the process.

“I was sleeping,” she said sheepishly. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“I can imagine,” she said sympathetically.

“Um, Linda, no offence but what are you doing here?”

“May I?” she said gesturing at the sofa.

“Yes, of course. Sorry. I’m still half asleep.”

“So, you know,” she said cutting straight to the chase.

“Yeap,” she said, popping the ‘p’.

“I was catatonic for almost a week. Required quite a bit of help to come to terms with it.”

“Well, I ran from it. From… him. I don’t… do that.”

“But you aren’t running anymore, are you?”

“No.”

“Lucifer asked me to come and check up on you. Begged me really. Apparently he sent you some messages but you never replied and he was worried.”

“I was dead on my feet. I completely forgot about my phone.” She got up and rummaged around in her bag, pulling it out. There were four unread messages. “Shit… I was supposed to text him when we arrived but I forgot. Why didn’t he come here himself?” she asked, her heart thumping again at the thought of seeing him.

“He was afraid that you had changed your mind about seeing him. Chickened out. He didn’t want to force himself on you. So, he sent me instead!”

“Oh. Wow. He is really good at making assumptions, huh?”

“Believe me when I say that this is nothing compared to what I’ve heard over the years.”

“So, you’re the Devil’s therapist. How is that for you?”

“Unbelievable. Astonishing. Frightening at times. But in the end comforting. Because despite being what he is, he is still Lucifer. Lucifer with his dumb assumptions-unprofessional I know- his sweet tooth and his big heart. And still the most fascinating patient any therapist could ever have.” 

Linda pulled out her phone and sent a quick text. The reply was instantaneous. She texted back.

“He’ll be waiting for you as you agreed. Now, I really have to go!” She stood up and straightened the wrinkles on her dress. Then looked at her.

“Good luck Chloe. Be kind and patient with him. He is still the man you know. The one who brings you coffee. The one who plays board games with you and your daughter and…” she frowned, deliberating whether or not to tell her. “Never mind the rest. Just give him a chance, okay?”

Despite her small frame, she had a certain air of authority about her, compelling Chloe to trust her.

“Okay.”

Once Linda was gone, she opened their thread.

_Detective have you landed?_

_Have you forgotten about me dear? You were supposed to let me know that you have arrived safely._

_Your flight has indeed arrived safely. I checked. Are you ghosting me?_

_One deleted message_

Of course he would reach the worst possible conclusion. Could she really blame him?

_I am sorry I worried you. I’ll take care of a few things and I’ll come._

_I promised, didn’t I?_

More than an hour later she was ready. Freshly showered and well-awake she stared at herself in the mirror, wondering if others could see the mess that was brewing inside her.

Her heart beat a strange, disjointed rhythm. Nerves and fear and doubt and love all twisting and twining together, a mess of limbs that wrapped around that wretched muscle that beat faster and faster as if there was going to be no tomorrow.

Without much more thought she grabbed her bag, car keys and left.

The drive was shorter than she expected, which meant that she had less time to mentally prepare herself.

By the time she stepped in the elevator she was incredibly nervous, which was making her hyper aware of everything.

She hated the way her shirt chaffed against her collarbones (it did not) and her shoes felt too tight (they were not). She stared at her reflection in the mirror on her ride up. Her hair was frizzing and she regretted not wearing any make up- her skin was too pale and the circles under her eyes still too prominent.

She shook her head in exasperation. Here she was, about to face the Devil and she was worried about her _hair_.

The doors opened, but she stood frozen in space, his home and everything in it suddenly heavy with new substance. She stepped out right before the doors closed and wandered inside.

The smell of smoke permeated the atmosphere in a way it never had before. She walked deeper inside the penthouse and found him sitting on his bed. She walked slowly towards him, her body a live wire of feelings and sensations, and stopped on the steps leading to his bedroom, her back against the (probably original) Sumerian walls.

She looked at him.

At his disheveled hair, his straight aquiline nose and his perfectly carved lips surrounded by dark stubble (no longer a beard). His eyes were as beautiful and dark as always but he dared not look at her. They were glued to the safe on the wall.

“That chip is still there,” she said surprised.

“I am quite fond of that chip. It reminds me of that night and how I found you asleep in my bed. Wearing my shirt.”

He turned towards her, finally looking into her eyes.

“I didn't think you'd come. I hoped, but I didn't think… I didn't believe that you would actually come here.”

“I should have made a bet with you. It would probably be the first you'd lose,” she said trying to lighten the mood. She expected a laugh, a chuckle, maybe even a smirk, but she did not expect the way his eyes grew even sadder.

“I am here now, aren’t I?” she said, voice trembling, heart racing and stomach summersaulting.

“Yes, you are. Shall we, Detective?” he said gesturing to his living room.

She sat on the sofa, he sat on one of the armchairs.

“Well? Ask away Detective!” he said cheerily.

She looked at him. He avoided her eyes, his hands fussing with his shirt and cufflinks, straightening them to perfection.

She knew the Devil and the Angel were there too, but all she could see was a man, hiding his fear behind false bravado.

“I’d like to know what happened to you…. to make you… look like that. I’d like to know where the truth lies. I’d like to know if I _know_ you. If… it was real. Any and all of it.”

“Dearie me. That’s a lot of questions. I think I need a drink. Or a few.”

He brought a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers. He poured whiskey in both of them and pushed one to her direction. She did not decline it, which said a lot about the frailty of her nerves.

“I quite literally fell through space and time,” he began without a preamble, raising his glass in toast to her and gulping it all at once. “I was forcefully shoved through different planes of existence with my wings broken. The same way an asteroid catches fire and burns in the earth's atmosphere, I too, burned as bright as any star during my descent. And crashed just as devastatingly. In Hell.”

She picked up her glass and took a generous sip. She looked at him. He held her eyes, jaw clenched, knuckles white around his empty glass. She downed the rest of it in a swallow. It burned almost as much as the words that left her lips.

“I want you to show me. Again.”

His face hardened at once.

“Is that why you are drinking? So you can bear the torture?” he sneered.

“I don’t want to lie,” she said in a small voice, looking at her trembling fingers. He was, too. “I am scared. _Of course_ I am. But I’m here. Wanting to know you. All parts of you. To understand.” She looked back into his eyes. “So, can you lose the attitude, please?”

“You’ll be terrified again. The look on your face will be forever etched in my memory. I cannot bear to witness it anew. Don’t ask me to Chloe.”

She blinked, letting her tears fall, and patted the empty space next to her on his sofa. Reluctantly, he obeyed. He held his body ramrod straight, looking at her from the corner of his eye.

“You can show me. It’s not the same as before _. I_ ’m not the same as before. I want to see you.”

He looked away from her, his fingers digging into the fine leather, tearing it. And then his hands were not his hands anymore. His knuckles were prominent on the red, ravaged skin that remained, the nail on his thumb mangled and blackened. Her eyes followed the line of his body upwards, at the red uneven patch of flesh peeking from the collar of his shirt, at the stringed, cordy muscles of his neck and up to his face.

Her heart was beating so fast she was certain it was about to take flight.

A wasteland of burnt skin. This close, she could see how prominent his bones were here, too; his cheekbones, his chin, his brow ridge.

This close, she could see _her_ Lucifer under the melted skin and singed flesh.

She bit her trembling lip and let loose tears that stung, salt on gaping wounds.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked, her voice barely able to leave her clogged up throat. Their eyes met.

The flames danced in his eyes, so unnatural, so otherworldly, so mesmerizing.

“No,” he whispered.

She raised her hand slowly and he watched, terrified and entranced, still as a statue as it moved closer and closer. When she touched his skin, his eyes closed, and she ran her thumb slowly from his temple to his jaw, feeling roughened skin, raised ridges and hallows of missing flesh as well the tension built there.

“You were burnt alive, down to your very flesh, and you survived,” she whimpered. “But how… how can you still… look like this?”

“It is who I am.”

“No, it’s not. It’s part of who you are but it’s not all that you are. You said that yourself.”

“This is the creature that survived Hell. The creature that was in part molded there. Detective… I have done unspeakable things. Horrible things.”

She withdrew her hand. He stared at it with an amalgamation of feelings that she could not hope to comprehend.

She pulled the hand that was closest to her into her grasp and held it there. Held it, sheltered it as if it was a small, precious wingless thing, even if it scratched and pulled against her skin, even if she could feel the sharpness of his blackened nails, even if it burned her skin with a fire that she could not see.

She would share that burn with him, would try to lessen that ache.

“You said it was for punishment. Yours and others’.”

“ _That_ was the Devil’s work Detective. The punishment of all those guilty souls that dragged themselves to Hell. I excelled at it. I ruled over despicable beings and exacted the punishments that I saw fit.”

“And why did you need to punish yourself? What do _you_ feel guilty about?”

He stood up abruptly and she missed the weight of his hand between hers immediately.

He put the coffee table between them and started pacing, his hands unconsciously drawn to his head to run through locks that were not there. He cursed under his breath and his form shifted in the blink of an eye. His fury settled around him like an invisible, shimmering veil.

“ _And the great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world—he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him_.”

His voice that seemed to be coming from everywhere in the room, an echo within an echo, trembled and shook with barely contained fury and his eyes burned a fiery red against his fair skin.

He was breath-taking.

“I _am_ the Monster Detective! The outcast, the depraved, the One who dared to question Him. A wicked, vicious creature, the root of all evil in _every_ reality, every world. Isn’t that what the Devil is?” he asked finally, his voice a thunder shaking her to the core.

“If I wanted to hear _this_ Lucifer, I would have gone to the _stupid_ Vatican,” she said with as much passion she could muster. “I have no interest in the opinions of others. I am here for _your_ story. Isn’t that the whole point? And quit with the yelling, okay?”

He deflated suddenly, all his anger and tension bleeding out, leaving him exhausted and hesitant.

"Sympathy for the Devil, Detective?" he asked sadly, eyes back to their gentle brown.

His mood swings were giving her a whiplash.

"Well, that and more," she said, hoping to ease him some.

He sat in the armchair again and she let him, respecting his reasons for wanting the distance between them. He topped up his glass again and took a long pull.

"Where should I start Detective?"

"At the beginning, please. Tell me everything."

He nodded, took another pull from his glass and began.

Lucifer wove a story that was unbelievable at best and fantastical at worst.

Would she have believed him had she not seen his Devil face?

Probably not.

But Chloe could not ignore her instinct, the very same that Lucifer had complimented time and time again. She could not ignore that gut feeling telling her that he was not lying-if anything he was speaking a truth that was tearing him apart, piece by piece.

And as the story unraveled, so did he. His disillusionment, his anger and hurt bled out onto his skin, making it red again and just like the first time she saw him, she realized that he didn’t _know_.  
  
But the thing that shook her the most, was the way his hands and voice shook, the way his burning eyes shone with unshed tears, resigned and distraught, when he spoke of his trial, if one could call it such.

She couldn't help herself. She went to him. She kneeled between his legs and took both of his hands into hers.

"Lucifer,” she choked out, “You are not bad. You are not _evil_ ," she said kissing the knuckles of his hands, _bone, they are mostly bone_ , as more tears gathered in her eyes and she blinked finally letting them fall on his skin.

She watched him shift back again as he dropped on his knees next to her.  
  
She looked at him, into eyes that had witnessed the birth of stars, the making of worlds, the fall of man again and _again_ , unfathomable things for a mere mortal like herself, but still, eyes that she knew, that she loved, eyes that held such a blaze of emotions that they burned brighter than all the stars he had set alight.

Perhaps that was all that she needed to know. That Lucifer had chosen to feel, to want, to hurt, to love the same way she did.

They weren't that different after all.

She cradled his face between her hands.

"You did not deserve that. And I’m saying that as a parent. You. did. not. deserve. that."

Then she kissed his eyes and felt the salt of his tears on his eyelids, felt the tremble in his hands as they embraced her, fingers curling around her shoulders.

She allowed herself a few moments to hold him, to feel his warm exhales on her skin, to let this newfound reality sink in. And between those exhales she found the fault in her past reasoning. There were not three distinct personas, the Devil, the Angel and the Man. There was only Lucifer, a collection of broken pieces due to all the hurt, the oppression and maltreatment he had suffered at the hands of his own family. She wanted to seep between his cracks and crevices, to fill those gaps and mend him, make him whole again. To show him that even broken, he could be beautiful.

Because he was.

His soul was refulgent with the brightness of the sun, the paleness of the moon, the glow of the stars- her very own source of light in the dark.

She pulled back to look at him again.

"You have lived steeped in pain and guilt for too long Lucifer. It's time for you to let go. Let go of all this guilt that others have burdened you with. You are _not_ a monster- you are kind and caring and fair… And you love Lucifer- you love more than you know."

"Chloe," he whispered humbled. "I d-don't—“

She pressed her fingers to his lips and shook her head. He looked at her, his eyes so full of gratitude and that other feeling that could not be named-not yet at least- and

_how could they ever make him believe that he was evil?_

She snuggled into his neck, wrapping her arms around him, her knees tucked between his legs.

"I’m sorry I ran like that. Whatever had happened... you are my partner. I shouldn't have abandoned you."

She felt his arms pulling her closer.

"It's alright....so... partners, as in the present tense?"

“Of course,” she said into his neck.

"Chloe...I still have so much to tell you."

“I bet. And we have our unfinished conversation too… But can we take things easy? One celestial topic per day?”

She felt his cheek press onto her forehead, felt his fingers running through her hair, felt the echo of his voice as he spoke.

“What changed your mind if I may ask? What made you send that text?”

She didn’t want to tell him. Didn’t want to confess her own shortsightedness.

But alas. _Honesty._

“A stranger reminded me that there are many sides to a story. And I didn't really know yours. Also, I realized belatedly that the prevailing versions of history were usually the ones shaped by the victors. So…”

She felt him hum contemplatively.

“Was Liege your first destination by any chance?” he asked serious.

It turned out it was hard to hide things from the Devil.

“ _Shut up_ Lucifer.”

He laughed and wrapped his hands tighter around her.

“I can't tell you how happy your new passion makes me Detective,” he teased.

She pulled back and pinched his bicep. He laughed harder.

“I am so glad to hear that. Now we can admire sculptures together.”

“No need darling. You’ve got your Lucifer right here in the flesh and I... well I am lucky enough to have my very own modern Αφροδίτη, with a full complement of limbs no less!”

“Oh G—“

He pinched her lips together softly.

“None of that Detective!”

He let go of her lips, the pads of his fingers lingering on their outline.

“This is going to be a thing now, isn’t it?” she asked, terrified at the sheer amount of puns he could come up with.

“Oh, it most certainly will darling,” he said, flashing her a cheeky grin.

She smiled back and felt the sting behind her eyes, felt the first tears slip out.

“Chloe, wh-what is it? I was only joking! I won’t say a bloody thing! I promise!”

His hands fluttered about her, not knowing where to settle, his voice panicky and scared.

She laughed, causing more tears to fall and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“All those nights I spent awake, after the initial terror had waned off and I could think again, there was always one thought I kept returning to.”

He waited, on edge, as if her words were the only judgment that mattered.

“I didn’t want to lose you Lucifer. I didn’t want you out of my life.”

“Is this about… _work_?”

“No, this is about you and me.”

“Chloe we have been dancing around each other for so long and all the while the truth stood between us like an invisible but impenetrable wall.”

“Well, I’d say that wall’s in shambles now.”

“I still don’t deserve you,” he said, taking her back to that day on the beach, to their first kiss. “Now, more so than ever.”

“Of course you would think so,” she said, more tears gathering in her eyes. “But you’re wrong Lucifer.”

“You still don’t know everything.”

“But you’ll tell me, won’t you? And we’ll face it… together.”

“Together?” he repeated, his voice wrapping around the syllables protectively.

“Would you like that?” she asked hopeful. His hands came to rest on the sides of her neck, his long fingers fanning out on her cheeks.

“Chloe… darling, there is nothing I want more.”

She leaned closer and stopped just shy of his lips. Close enough that she could taste his exhale on her taste buds.

She had made her choice. As impossible as it may have seemed at first, she chose him. And would do so, again and again and _again_.

And in a way he had chosen too.

_How I feel about you._

But words had been spoken before in the past with disastrously _sweet_ follow up actions.

So Chloe wanted _him_ to take this final step.

He did.

Easily.

He chose her. Again.

And it felt like a first kiss.

Like a beginning, like a sunrise; soft but still bright, exciting and terrifying and so full of hope and possibilities.

A kiss that both of them seemed intent on making it last.

It rose and fell like the waves of the sea, from soft and languid to passionate and hungry and back again until they both had to break apart to catch their breaths.

“I must have done something very good to deserve such a kiss,” he said, smile a little dopey and dazed.

“You have done many, many wonderful things,” she said but her mind rushed back to that feeling, _serendipity_. “But perhaps the most fortuitous has been posing for sexy devil statues and infatuating poor French girls to the point of verbal diarrhea!”

He gave a hearty laugh, his entire body shaking with it.

“The Devil made an impression on them, did he?”

“You could say that!”

“And what about you Detective? Were you taken by the Devil as well?”

“Oh Lucifer, I was taken by the Devil long before I ever saw that statue.”

She leaned back in and kissed him, reveling in the knowledge of this bitten apple, in the feel of his lips and tongue, in the very taste of him.

“So, no more running?” he asked optimistic.

“No more running,” she assured.

“Do I have your word Detective?” he asked half joking.

“Well, I am no Devil, but yes Lucifer, you do.” She kissed the corner of his mouth. “No more running. I promise.”

The end

(was only their beginning)

**Author's Note:**

> "I won’t run away no more, I promise/ Even when I get bored, I promise  
> Even when the ship is wrecked, I promise/ Tie me to the rotting deck, I promise"  
> (Rediohead, ‘I promise’)
> 
> So! Two parts were obviously quoted from the bible (Genesis 1:3, Revelation 12:9)
> 
> The French!  
> Tres beau= very handsome  
> La source de tous les maux= The source of all things evil  
> Mon chou= my sweetie  
> Ma lutine= my fairy/pixie  
> Ca va bien? =Are you alright?  
> Alors=Well
> 
> Αφροδίτη is apparently Aphrodite/Venus
> 
> Some of the texts that Lucifer sends are from one of Netflix’s promos for season 4.  
> And if you want to laugh imagine Lucifer making sure there are no loopholes left for Chloe.  
> “Or driving away,” he added, kissing her nose./“That too.”/“Or flying away.” He kissed her thumb./“Really Lucifer?”/“Loopholes Detective! I am a very thorough Devil.”/“Anything else to add?”/“Well, there is walking, hopping, rid—“/“Oh my God!” she said deliberately./“Detective!”/“Oh. My. G—“


End file.
